


Ineffable communication

by Book_Addict



Category: Good Omens
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-09-23 10:35:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20338717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Book_Addict/pseuds/Book_Addict
Summary: Honestly this is just Ineffable Husbands fluff ;DWhen they realise their feelings for each other and tell each other ineffably.





	1. POV of Aziraphale

Aziraphale had been getting so restless recently. It was a constant itch, nagging at him to get up, to move, to do something, and it meant he had started to feel exhausted, but still buzzing, as if he had been drained of energy yet had drunk 10 cups of coffee.

The bookshop had even started to feel almost (although not quite) boring, and his insatiable energy meant he hadn’t been able to delve into the almost subconscious dreamscape of reading for months without being distracted at every small thing- and for some reason, especially so when Crowley was around.

He began to wonder if something had changed in him after the abortapocalypse, as now any physical contact with Crowley felt like sparks of electricity dancing up his arm. It was a curious sensation, and not altogether unpleasant, but he hadn’t the faintest idea what it could be.

Was this what Crowley felt like when walking on consecrated ground?

He realised that for some reason, contact between them had changed, and although he knew not why, touching each other could have become the equivalent of being in hellfire or holy water (for each of them respectively). After all, he couldn’t really think of an alternative answer.

This realisation did make him rather sad*. He decided he had to share his discovery with Crowley, although he wasn’t sure how to break it to him, especially as he knew Crowley did like the physical aspect of their friendship, as much as he tried to hide it, by his small smile when their fingers or feet or knees brushed.

*although not... not that he liked... liked touching Crowley...

A few days later, as they ate an indoor picnic in the back room of the bookshop, Aziraphale began to explain his suspicions.  
“Crowley dear, have you noticed anything strange between us recently?” he asked.

Crowley paused, fork raised halfway to his mouth, and raised a single eyebrow at him.

“Sparks? Or maybe an intense heat? Just when we touch. It’s very odd,” he continued, “yet I think I know what might have caused it.”

Crowley carefully put his fork down and his albeit mostly empty plate off his lap onto the wooden floor, then stared at Aziraphale in a somewhat excited way, although of course he tried to hide it. Poor dear- this was, unfortunately, not news that he should be happy about.

“It’s not good. My suspicion, that is,” Aziraphale hastened to add, “I think there has been some sort of development...”  
To his surprise, Crowley had started to nod enthusiastically.

“I think that... maybe... touching each other has become too blessed or cursed for each of us, respectively of course, my dear, so when we brush against each other, it is as if I am touching hellfire, and you holy water.”

Crowley’s mouth fell open, and Aziraphale watched it somewhat closely as it struggled to find words. He began to nod. He knew just how Crowley felt- it was very strange, and quite a shock after six millennia of relatively close and human interactions between them.

“Angel,” Crowley finally made out, “Angel. Can you seriously not think of any other reason for it?”

Aziraphale shrugged, more than a little confused, and reached out for another olive, before realising that Crowley had miracled away the picnic. He looked up at him, questioning, but Crowley stood up abruptly.

“I think I need to leave,” he said plainly, though with an eloquent shrug of shoulders far more graceful than they should be.

“Crowley, dear, what did I say? Please stay- I would hate to have to spend yet more time alone when I could just as easily have excellent companionship.”

Crowley sighed exasperatedly, and pushed his hand through his hair- an action he had done more and more as his hair began to grow out again.  
“It’s fine, angel. You didn’t say anything. I just thought you were going to say something else- it was just a misunderstanding.”  
Aziraphale jumped to his feet, sobering himself up in the process.

“What did you think I’d say?”

He truly couldn’t understand Crowley, no matter how well he knew him.

Crowley sighed- again- and removed his sunglasses, allowing Aziraphale to see deep into his eyes. Crowley’s eyes always fascinated him- the pure emotion behind them was overwhelmingly, beautifully* emotional.

*of course, this is beautiful in the angelic sense- and emotion, especially positive ones, were definitely considered angelic (or at least in theory- he have a feeling that Gabriel would disagree). After all, Aziraphale definitely didn’t think that Crowley’s eyes were beautiful in the human sense...

In fascination, Aziraphale explored their golden depths, and noticing, not for the first time, the subtle shifts between each layer and hue of yellow with each blink. The ever moving rhythm of Time seemed to be somehow grinding to a halt, although he was sure it was neither his nor Crowley’s doing.

A soft pulsing glow emanated from the centre of each iris, and Aziraphale continued to watch in interest as the gilded rings of Crowley’s eyes continued to move, although the rest of him was motionless, as was Aziraphale.

_Golden Moments of stillness are often hard to pin down afterwards- the brain tries to rationalise it until it is a mere shadow of its former self- but within the actual moment of a Moment, all who are aware of it are struck by the quiet, yet not complete silence- just a warm, comforting glow, like the echo of another’s heartbeat._

_And this Moment never stopped. That is to say, in a way it continued on forever, because when Time stops, all that is logically left is infinity._

When Crowley’s finger brushed against his, Aziraphale almost jumped, then realised he wasn’t, in some way, surprised, because this felt right, although half of him* was shocked beyond comprehension.

*unfortunately, the half which controlled his jaw, which dropped open.

Slowly, achingly slowly, each figure’s hand shifted around each other, both relishing the smooth catches of skin on skin, until their two smallest fingers were locked around each other.

_Then the Moment rearranged into a smaller, yet still vitally important, moment, and somehow that was all it had ever been._

Aziraphale was the first to break the quiet, and hesitantly and carefully, he uttered Crowley’s name, then cleared his throat and repeated it once. Then twice. Then:

“Crowley, my dear, dear boy, I’m so sorry. I’ve been such an idiot.”

Crowley cracked a smile.

“Angel. It’s alright. I always would have waited until you were ready. Of course, I always hoped, but...”  
“Anthony J. Crowley,” Aziraphale interrupted, somewhat raspy, and flavouring each syllable with care, “we have so much catching up to do.“


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The same scenario but Crowley’s pov

As always, Crowley watched Aziraphale closely as he ate. It was always fascinating- his love for food was always expressed in the greatest joy, which somehow managed to warm Crowley’s heart. Of course, just Aziraphale’s face would have warmed his heart anyway, although that was not something he tried to think about too often, else it would lead him into thoughts which he knew he could not touch on unless he was very much alone.

He decided to have a couple of olives for once, for little reason other than to divert his mind from overly distracting thoughts, but his eyes kept sliding back to Aziraphale, who had just popped a small portion of toast topped with Camembert in his mouth, and whose eyelids were fluttering in pleasure.

Crowley gulped a rather large amount of wine, which sent him into a spasm of coughing despite his best efforts to hold it in.

This distracted Aziraphale for a moment from his food, and his concerned smile sent Crowley’s heart fluttering into oblivion. He hissed at himself inwardly- with 6 millennia of practice, he was always disappointed at how badly his subtlety worked out.

With resignation, Crowley began to lift his fork to his lips when Aziraphale started to speak.

“Crowley dear, have you noticed anything strange between us recently? Sparks? Or maybe an intense heat? Just when we touch. It’s very odd, yet I think I know what might have caused it.”

Crowley gasped, longing for things to go his way just for once. He stared intently at Aziraphale, miracling away the picnic and pleading silently for Aziraphale to admit to something Crowley had felt for millennia.

“It’s not good. My suspicion, that is.”

Crowley crossed his fingers, his toes, and prayed to God for the first time in centuries.

“I think there has been some sort of development.”

Relieved, Crowley started nodding. He could only guess at one possible result from that phrase, and although the “It’s not good” threw him off for a bit, he couldn’t think of any development other than...

Although he didn’t want to get his hopes up- he’d learnt his mistake in doing so far too many times- his heart still longed to have the closest form of companionship that it thirsted for.

6000 years with only one recipient of this, but with no such feelings returned, meant Crowley had been thinking of Aziraphale more and more lately. After all, there was only so long you could last without love- even for a demon.

Crowley leant forward slightly, his gaze rapt yet again on Aziraphale, but then pulled backwards and almost falling over with the momentum once his ears tuned in again to what Aziraphale was actually saying.

“...so when we brush against each other, it is as if I am touching hellfire, and you holy water.”

Crowley felt his heart retreat back into its old weary shell as his mind whispered “I told you so!” unsympathetically. Yet despite the bone-deep ache that echoed in the stone of his inner shell, his only hope still pleaded to be complete.

Without thinking, he gasped out “Angel”, then cursing himself inwardly, tried again.

“Angel. Can you seriously not think of any other reason for it?” Aziraphale shrugged, each movement of his shoulders followed hungrily by Crowley’s eyes, who then tried to pull his gaze away, but by then it was too late- Aziraphale’s eyes, clouded with confusion, met his. Furious with himself for being so open, Crowley tore his gaze away and leapt to his feet.

“I think I need to leave,” he attempted to say coolly, although it came out a little flustered.

Aziraphale stood up after him, trying to catch his eye, but Crowley turned away his head. Words came out like crumpled pages and littered the floor, giving Crowley some excuse or other, although he couldn’t remember which one. However, despite his attempted cool pretence, Aziraphale had to know something was wrong.

“What did you think I’d say?”

Aziraphale’s words tore at Crowley’s chest, fighting to be let in, and with a start Crowley realised that Aziraphale was fully sober. How long had that been the case? After all, Crowley had slightly been relying on the convenient memory-losing skills of alcohol to cover for his strange behaviour.

In his state of confused distraction, Aziraphale’s..... his emotion? expression? self?... Aziraphale’s _presence_ managed to sneak into Crowley so that before he knew what he was doing, he had removed his glasses, and for the first time, allowed himself to be _read_.

His eyes locked on Aziraphale’s, Crowley felt a shiver- a warm, caressing shiver- run down his spine. His mouth parted a little, and he felt an urge to lick his stale lips, which he did- hesitantly and a little stickily.

Then his heart beat, which had been accelerating dramatically, seemed to slow gradually into a still echo as he fell with Aziraphale into the depths of each other’s eyes, drowning and melting and suddenly fresh and free in a way that neither heaven nor hell could never have given them.

Crowley surfaced first, although still drunk enough on _Aziraphaleness_ that he extended a finger to Aziraphale’s, and twined then around each other.

This reminder of the physical world lowered Aziraphale back into consciousness, mouth dropping open to match Crowley’s, moistening his lips to match Crowley’s, and starting to breath again.

When Aziraphale spoke, Crowley could always feel something stir inside of him, but when it was his name, once, then twice, Crowley could barely hold himself back. Then:

“Crowley, my dear, dear boy, I’m so sorry. I’ve been such an idiot.”

Crowley let his grin expand, bursting open untamed and uncontrollable and freely, joyfully happy.

“Angel. It’s alright. I always would have waited until you were ready. Of course, I always hoped, but...”

“Anthony J. Crowley,” Aziraphale interrupted, each syllable sending waves of shivers across Crowley’s body, “we have so much catching up to do.”


	3. Chapter 3

And they fell into each other’s arms.

No kissing, nothing remotely suggestive- after all, when you’ve got all the time in the world, why hurry?

No, this was a form of love no supernatural beings had ever felt before, and they intended to make it slow, gentle, and so full of a _love_ which was an emotion so strong, no human could ever fully encompass it.

Head on head, a forehead tucked into a neck, eyes closed, top lip brushing the other’s collarbone, while a face is buried in the other’s hair, inhaling the smell of him, curls ticking lips, arms holding shoulders, forearms tucked under the other’s arms which stretch down the sides of a torso before meeting each other on the end of a back, resting softly above the smooth outward curve of the tail bone. Chest on chest, every finger illustrating ineffable communication in the calligraphy of love, and each mouth moving softly as lips mutter the tones of wonderment, marvelling at each other, themselves, and their mutual ability to _understand_.


	4. Random extra chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Random extra chapter of Anathema’s pov when she’s at the book shop at the same time

I made my way between tightly packed shelves and stacks, breathing in the musty yet comforting smell of old books, eyes gliding over countless titles until I was drunk on them. I lifted up a hand to stroke the somewhat battered spines, feeling each curve speak to me the way that books always did. I picked one from the shelf at random- a beautiful first edition of A Christmas Carol, embossed with a delicate gold pattern.

Opening the cover, then the first page, I drank in the soft sound of rustling page, which added to the quiet which was almost silence, yet somehow cosier, like the echo of someone else’s heartbeat. 

The magical effect of books on people always astounded me- this wasn’t a miracle or witch magic, but a different, subtler kind, that held your heart with warmth. Everyone who entered stepped softly, and a rare creak in the floorboards was often all that gave them away. 

The sun stole lazily across the dappled oaken floorboards, catching on a knot every now and again but still moving slowly onwards, coinciding with each constant tick of a clock hidden behind more layers of shelving.

Time kept gliding forwards, but after a while, it felt as if the tide of time began to wash over the bubble of the bookshop, allowing a delicate pause filled only with the golden warmth of the pure love of books.

I returned another book to its place on a shelf, and eventually decided to get in with the business I was here for, else Newt would begin to wonder where I was.

I made my way around my fellow browsers, all of whom were rapt within their respective books, and felt a slightly humorous pang of pity for them, as there was no way that Aziraphale would let them buy the books- he would always be able to think up an excuse.

Unsurprisingly, the till was empty, so I proceeded to the back rooms where I was certain Aziraphale, and maybe Crowley, would be.

I paused at the ajar door to peer inside. To my surprise, I could see Aziraphale and Crowley standing motionless in front of each other, staring into each other’s eyes, about three feet apart.

I waited, watching, with the uncomfortable sensation that I could be about to interrupt something important. Both of their auras were pulsing strongly, something I had never seen before, and as I watched, the two started to lean towards each other and intermingle like fine tendrils of mist, despite their respective people not moving an inch.

I blinked slowly, hoping what I was seeing was true, as I had long hoped that my suspicions about the two’s feelings for each other were correct. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Crowley’s hand move slowly towards Aziraphale’s, while all the while holding eye contact. 

Their fingers brushed and slowly curled around each other until their pinkie fingers were intertwined. I let out a breath I didn’t know I had been holding, then decided I should best leave them - they had waited 6,000 years for this moment, so they deserved their privacy. After all, business could always wait.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading this! :)
> 
> I hope this put a smile in your day because to be honest that’s all this is for ;)
> 
> This is one of my first posts on ao3, so please feel free to leave any kudos and/ or comments, and constructive criticism will be welcome


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